


The Hum of Normalcy

by Curator



Category: Star Trek: Voyager
Genre: Angst, Back to the ship, Episode: s02e25 Resolutions, F/M, Finding a new normal, Parameters, after New Earth, canon-consistent, fears, reacclimation, worry dolls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:06:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23413540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curator/pseuds/Curator
Summary: After months of isolation in a two-person planetary shelter, how would it feel to suddenly be back on a starship built for 150 people?
Relationships: Chakotay/Kathryn Janeway
Comments: 24
Kudos: 34





	The Hum of Normalcy

The planet was loud. 

Birdsong in the morning. 

Crickets at night. 

The chittering of monkeys during the day.

The ship …

The ship hums.

Constantly. 

Sure, she could order a faster or slower speed, but all that would do is change the pitch. Even at full stop, as long as the warp core is online, it’s there. 

The hum.

And the crew. Three months of just one person hyper-attuned her attention.

Every shy grin when she complimented his cooking.

Every twinkle in his eye when he drafted a new plan for something he could build.

Every flush in his cheeks when they made love.

Since they’ve been back, she hasn’t seen him off-duty. Every shift has been as awkward as that first one. She had expected the EMH to order them to take a few days to re-acclimate, but it all happened so fast.

“Welcome aboard, Captain.”

“We missed you, Captain.”

“Good to have you back, Captain.”

Her nods in reply were too formal, she knew, but she couldn’t think of what to say. Faces would appear, then recede.

So many faces.

She was sure she hid her discomfort when they stepped onto the bridge. But the first time she walked into engineering with its buzz of activity, her steps had faltered. Questioning eyes had turned toward her, conversation and camaraderie dimming as officers inquired how they could assist with her inspection.

It hadn’t been an inspection.

It had been a visit.

Until it became an inspection because she was just one person and there was a ridged forehead and then a pointy ear and then a creased nose and each of those people had something they thought she was there to inspect.

Afterward, alone, she had halted the turbolift and breathed into her cupped hands.

This is what she had wanted, of course.

Time delineated by duty shifts, not the arc of the sun.

Faster-than-light speed toward Earth.

Other people.

On the planet, she had woken up in a cold sweat more than once.

“What happens if one of us gets sick or injured?” she had asked. “What happens if one of us dies?”

He had said he had an idea to help. That morning, he disappeared after breakfast. When he emerged from the woods for lunch, he held a small piece of wood delicately carved with a head, arms, and legs. 

“It’s a worry doll,” he had explained. “Legend says when fears keep a person awake, the remedy is to whisper worries into the doll’s ear, then place the doll under your pillow. When morning breaks, the doll holds the worries and the person is free.”

She hadn’t had a doll since she was nine years old. Her lips had pursed at the thought of being coddled.

Then she had noticed a second doll.

“I get scared, too,” he had said. “But we’ll get through this — together.”

She wonders if his worry doll also has found a home under a Starfleet pillow in a Starfleet bed in Starfleet quarters.

She fights the urge to ring his chime.

She wonders if he fights the same urge.

They had talked about it, of course, back in the shelter, as soon as they found out _Voyager_ was returning for them.

“Your judgement is compromised either way,” he had reached for her hand, “so why not be honest with the crew and with ourselves?”

She had crossed her arms. 

“It’s not that simple. What if a lovers’ quarrel affected our professional relationship? What about the reverse? A starship demands clear hierarchy and we can’t let that hierarchy be clouded by matters of the heart.”

She didn’t see the shy grin after that. The twinkle disappeared and the flush became out of the question.

Give it time, she tells herself as she paces her quarters. Gone for three months means it may take three months to truly be back. 

She checks the chronometer next to her bed. 

It’s been five days.

It feels like five years.

Her hands find her hips.

Lack of control is unacceptable. She’s a captain.

Wallowing is a luxury.

Loneliness is appropriate.

Her fingers grasp for the worry doll under her pillow. 

She lays it in the replicator.

“Computer, recycle.”

She stares at the empty place.

The hum of the warp core fills her ears. 

She squares her shoulders, straightens her back, swallows the lump in her throat. 

She may as well head down to engineering for an inspection. After all, she reminds herself, this is what she wanted.


End file.
